


Patterns of Force

by chains_archivist



Category: Fushigi Yuugi
Genre: Boys in Chains, M/M, Slaves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3715447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by RazorQueen</p><p>Nakago agrees to spare the Konan army if Hotohori meets him in single combat. The loser's forfeit--a night of service to the victor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patterns of Force

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).

The Konan emperor approaches, his head held high, but my horse smells his fear and snorts restlessly, eager for battle.  I pat the animalís neck, calming him as the emperor and his officers draw nearer.

My men line up behind me, appearing to outnumber the Konan army ten to one. He cannot know that I have staged this like a traveling magician stages his show. I arranged my men deliberately on these hills so that it appears they cover the earth like a swarm of locusts. In truth, the valleys are empty, my soldiers standing only on the ground that can be seen by our enemies.

An illusion. Like the Konan emperorís courage, I suppose.

His captains stir behind him. The thin, cold wind carries their words to me.

"If we advance, we will surely be cut to pieces."

Another agrees. "They are too many. Perhaps a truceÖ"

Truce. The words I hoped to hear. I urge my eager stallion forward a little. Their conversation stops as they stare at me. I have grown accustomed to being stared atóI am so different from themóbut I have never learned to like it. My blue eyes meet the emperorís gaze. Slim and dark, he is the epitome of what I am not, this exquisite ruler. His eyes widen, and I can see that I, the blond shogun, fascinate him in spite of himself.

"Saihitei!" It is impudence to use his name, and my lips quirk as his men gasp in horror. "I would speak with you alone."

The cold wind lifts his hair, spreading it like shadowed wings. His hand tightens on the hilt of his sword, but he nods and spurs his horse toward me. He stills the protests of his captains with a glance. He is regal, far more regal than my own emperor.

He reins in his own stallion with admirable skill. For such a young man, he has much grace in the saddle. "I am here. What do you wish to say?"

I smile. He has a proud voice, and Iím sure that it piques him to parlay with me, a mere general. "I offer you an opportunity."

"Opportunity?"

"For survival. You can see for yourself how we outnumber you."

He lifts his chin. "Then why do you not attack and be done?"

Clever boy. Much more clever than my emperor led me to believe. I take his measure, this young Konan ruler. I have never seen such perfect male beauty. Nor am I deceived by his loveliness. He sits his saddle like an old warrior, his hand resting lightly on his sword. I sense he could gut an ordinary opponent in an instant if he chose.

"An attack would spend a great many lives on an outcome which is not in doubt. The Konan emperor surely would not excuse such waste?"

I see indecision flicker in his eyes. Clever, yes, but inexperienced. He dares not ask his captains for their opinions, not in front of me. He must decide alone, and the weight of his decision frightens him. "Speak on."

My stallion snorts and stamps. I wait a long moment before answering, savoring the unease that springs up in his face. He must be convinced of our superiority, at least for the moment. "In Kutou country, we have heard much of Konanís boy-emperor."

His eyes flare at the taunt, but he holds his tongue. He has self-control, a rare attribute in emperors, at least in my experience.

I continue. "I have a great desire to see what truth lies behind these stories." I tilt my head, as if to examine him. "I think the stories of the Konan emperorís beauty are overstated. Perhaps his prowess is exaggerated, as well."

I lie. No words can adequately describe his pure comeliness. But he has youth and power, as well, and I do not doubt he has been flattered since babyhood. Yes. His magnificent eyes glitter with anger. I have pricked his vanity.  He draws his sword a scant inch from its sheath, a slice of bare metal catching the sun.

"I have heard stories about Kutouís shogun, as well. Perhaps the truth about him has been embroidered."

"Perhaps." Good boy. Play into my hands. Let your anger blind you to my ruse. I laugh, knowing it will enflame him.

"Name the time and place." His voice trembles with injured pride. "I will prove myself."

I gesture toward the woods, to my left and behind me. "At dusk. There is an abandoned inn, a mile or so inside in the forest. Meet me there. Alone."

He suddenly looks very young, and I almost relent. Almost. Then I think of my duties and my hate.

He nods. "I will meet you."

He rides back to his captains, and I hear them press him as much as they dare. He glances back at me, his fine brows knit in confusion. His voice, low and sweet, carries across the distance between us.

"I have promised to meet him, at dusk in the forest. In single combat."

****

The sun sinks. I give orders for my men to tend four fires each in order to further confound the Konan army about our numbers. Then I mount my horse and ride into the forest.

It is nearly dark when I reach the old inn, but Saihitei has not yet arrived. I wonder if he will renege on his promise, but then I hear the slow drum of hooves, muffled by fallen leaves. He does not hurry his horse. I stand in the deep shadows cast by the inn, waiting.

He dismounts, ties his horse, his sword in his hand. He slips through the darkness like a fey creature, his hair woven of the night itself. He captivates me, this emperor. My lips feel parched, and I run my tongue across them, tasting my own sweat. What do his lips taste of? I wonder.

He waits, and I do not disappoint him. I step out of the shadows, and he sucks in a small, sharp breath. He draws his sword and watches me, his chest rising and falling rapidly.  He faces me despite his fear, and that is true courage. I realize that I misjudged him at our first meeting.

"Draw your sword, shogun."

His voice has the timbre of a manís, the sudden modulations of boyhood long past. Like a tapestry, threads weave through it, the design of arrogance, of the confidence and security of rank, entwining with another filament. It is fear, I think, but not fear of death. His fear is of losing, of being humiliated before his armiesóand before the Shogun of Kutou.  I understand now, and my understanding gives me a weapon against him.

I feel a pang of sympathy for the Konan emperor. He is not my enemy. But he does not know that and must not guess, lest others realize my purpose too soon. I have no intention of sparing him the humiliation of defeat.

I answer his challenge, pulling my sword from its sheath. "I wondered if you would come, Saihitei." Again, I use his name, partly to drive him to anger, but also because I wish to remind myself that he is an emperor. I ought to know what to expect from the likes of him. I should feel hate for him. I do not.

"I said that I would meet you." Strangely, he sounds not angry but puzzled.

Another thread is added to the tapestry, the strand of honor. I begin to regret the necessity of besting him.

"Then see what your promise has brought you." I lunge at him and we begin.

His skill with his sword surprises me. We are nearly evenly matched, and only my experience gives me any advantage. He fights tirelessly and without error. I begin to enjoy the bout, so rarely am I truly challenged by an opponent. His movements, graceful and powerful, mesmerize me. I nearly fight to continue our battle rather than to end it, simply to prolong the joy in watching his martial dance. But that would be foolish, and I am never a fool.

I press him harder, and he falls back at first.

"So the stories do lie."

I taunt him softly, my voice a caress in the darkness. I can see little of him now but his sword, glittering in the moonlight, though I hear his breath, quick and light. He swings his blade in a wide arc, coming much closer to decapitating me than I intended to allow.

It is no longer a game. I feel a familiar burning pain in my head. Damn! I do not wish to destroy him. Then whyÖ? As he turns, I see it on his slender neck. It glows red, like a ruby bathed in fire or blood, the character for "star." The glow spreads, enveloping his body. Seishi? He is seishi? My ki responds to his energy and I know my own character must be fully visible, glowing blue on my forehead.

 

He stumbles back, obviously startled. I press my advantage, and he slips on the grass, sprawls at my feet. The point of my sword rests on his throat. Any other man in that position would look awkward, clumsy, but this one falls as elegantly as he does all else. I kick his sword away, sensing that he might be a man who could kill me if he chose. He lies on the cold ground, and I feel him staring at me again as he stared when we first met.

"That mark. On your forehead. It meansÖ" He breaks off, as if unsure how to continue.

"It means the same as yours, your Majesty. No, not quite the same. I am Seiryuu no Seishi. And you, I presume, are Suzaku no Seishi."

"Yes." He whispers, and I wonder why. "I have never met another seishi."

Another thread weaves through his voice, the thread of loneliness.

"Well, you have met one now." I sheathe my sword. "I may be forced to kill you one day, Suzaku warrior. But not today."

"You defeated me." Finally, I hear his youth in his voice. "No one has ever defeated me."

I offer him my hand. "Any man may be defeated. Even a seishi. Remember that, Konan emperor."

He hesitates, then grips my hand and I pull him to his feet. He stands before me, eyes dark pools in a moonlight-pale face. "What will you do, now that you have defeated me?"

I raise my hand to his cheek. He flinches, and I smile. "I have the right to claim victory. You agreed to meet me in single combat, and you have conceded defeat. But I think, instead, that I shall claim a forfeit from you."

"A-a forfeit?" He does not know what to expect from me. In truth, I do not know what to expect from myself.

I glance back at the old inn behind us. "I give you your life. In exchange, I claim one night of service from you." I do not need a defeated Konan army, not now. I need this emperor alive and strong, a thorn in Kutouís side.

"Service?" The warp and woof of haughtiness and injured pride twine together in his voice. "I am the emperorÖ"

"The defeated emperor." I lean close to him, seizing his upper arm. He gasps, and I guess that no one has ever dared treat him roughly. "Remember what I could demand. You are buying the lives of your men with your service."

He looks down at my hand, still gripping his arm in its sleeve of heavy white silk. In the moonlight, I see the weight of duty settle over him. He closes his eyes. Does he pray, I wonder, and for what? Even though I carry Seiryuuís mark, I never pray. I have had enough of gods to last several lifetimes.

"I willÖserve you."

Releasing his arm, I turn toward the inn. I walk several yards, but he does not follow. Without glancing back, I snap my fingers at him. Behind me, quiet footsteps rustle the grass. I catch my breath as he passes his sword, lying in the weeds where I kicked it from his hand. He does not even pause. No, he is not the kind to stab me in the back. It seems that not all emperors are alike after all.

"Come, thenÖservant. I am tired and thirsty after our exercise. Attend me."

I take the saddlebags from my horseís back and hand them to him. Hesitating at first, he takes them as he realizes I expect him to carry them. He slings them over his shoulder in a single, supple movement, then waits for me to lead. I wonder if perhaps he enjoys receiving orders for a change. I have known men like that, strong men always in command of themselves and others, who choose to be dominated behind closed doors.

The inn smells of must and disuse, but it is not completely without amenities. Some furniture remains unbroken, and pieces of firewood still fill the bin next to the hearth.

"The night is chilly. Make a fire." I move toward the stairs at the back of the room, climbing carefully, though the treads seem sound.

I pass through the large common sleeping loft to the smaller rooms, those that would have been used by traveling merchants or nobles rich enough to pay for privacy. Good. One still has a bed. I inspect it, satisfying myself that nothing nests in or under it. Then I return to the main room.

The emperor kneels in front of the cold, dark hearth. His hair sweeps around him, hiding his face from me, his shoulders rigid and tense. I stand behind him, close enough to touch him if I choose.

"You have not yet obeyed me."

"I do not know how to make a fire." He speaks quietly, but there is no shame in his voice. Of course not. Where would an emperor learn such a skill?

"Then I will teach you. Someday, you may need to know how to do this for yourself." I take flint and strike it, showing him how to produce a spark, how to feed the spark slowly so that it is not overwhelmed, adding larger pieces of wood only as the fire gains strength. I take every opportunity to touch him, holding his hands as they strike the flint, reaching an arm around him to show him which pieces of wood to add to the flames.

He trembles and I wonder if he has not often been touched. He is an emperoróhe could command anyone in his palace, male or female, as well I know. And he is beautiful as a star; surely he has no need to take unwilling lovers to his bed, likeÖ I move away, leaving him to tend the fire. Is that a sigh of disappointment that I hear, or of relief? Perhaps it is both, or perhaps he does not know which it is himself.

I sit in a chair that is still whole, studying him. He learned quickly and now feeds the growing fire as though he has done this all his life. His face is serious and intent, and I see a brief vision of a younger emperor over his books, wanting very much to please someoneóhis teachers? His parents?ówith his diligence.

"Thatís enough. I am thirsty. There is wine in my bags."

I watch as he serves me, his hands shaking slightly. Even pouring wine is a new experience for him. How utterly sheltered he must have been. I feel something stir in my breast, but I ignore it, do not allow it to take root.

He brings me the cup and I take it, brushing my fingers over his hand. He pulls back as though Iíve burned him. His skittishness amuses me.

"Boy, are you thirsty?"

He raises his head, stung. "No."

I know that he lies. He worked as hard as I, and I was parched. "Come here."

I motion him to me. He obeys, and I gesture for him to kneel beside me. He does not protest, and I stroke his hair to show my pleasure. It feels smoother than the silk he wears.

"Tell me, my pretty servant. Have you ever been with a man before?"

His eyes grow to enormous proportions, as if they would swallow his face. He swallows and sputters, finally managing a strangled, "No."

"Ah." I catch a strand of his hair in my hand, play with it, tickling his cheek to annoy him. "Nor a woman, either, I suppose?"

He shakes his head, his face as red as the flames. I reach down and tip his chin toward me, with the other hand pressing the cup to his lips.

"Drink," I order. "There. I can be a kind master if I choose."

He swallows, then raises his eyes to look at me. He has surprisingly light eyes, almost golden, although at the moment I can only see a bare edge glimmer around pools of ink-black pupils. I take the cup away. Wine stains his mouth, and I lean down, satisfying my curiosity about the taste of those lips. I run my tongue across their velvet surface, and he pulls away.

"No, no." I scold him as though he were a toddler. I set the cup on a table at my elbow, then bend down again. "Do not tell me you have never done this before, either."

Color stains his cheeks again, like the blush of a peach. "Ióno one has ever kissed me."

No longer just a thread of loneliness in his voice; I see it is the pattern itself.

"Ah." I slide a hand behind his head, cupping my palm against the dark silk of his hair. I kiss him, a long, claiming kiss, until his mouth trembles under mine. He tenses and would pull back did I not lock him to me with my ungentle grip. My tongue torments him, licking across the corners of his closed mouth, until I feel the moment of his surrender and he parts his honeyed lips. Slowly, I teach him all that a kiss can be.

When I lift my head at last, he whimpers, runs his tongue over his swollen lips as if trying to recreate the newly learned sensations for himself. I draw my thumb across his cheek and he opens his eyes. I see confusion in the golden depths, and hunger. He wants more, but he is too proud to ask.

"Get up," I say, abrupt and demanding.

He rises from his knees and stands before me, quivering like a young stag in his first rut. I stand as well, unclasping his belt and letting it fall to the floor. His scarlet surcoat hangs loose, and I impatiently tug it over his head. Even without it, he wears too many clothes for my taste, but for the moment, I let him be.

With a jerk of my head, I motion him back to me. He comes closer, and I snatch him into a rough embrace, sealing our mouths together. This time, his response is hot and eager, his tongue proving he has learned the lessons mine taught him. I pull open his white silk jacket and thrust my hands inside. My fingers find the soft flesh of his nipples, and I pinch them, rolling them between my thumb and forefinger, until he moans. He squirms, his hands clinging to my sleeves, both wanting and fearing the lessons I am giving him. He is hard; I can feel his heated mound against my thigh, and I thrust my leg between his. Slowly, I hump against him, letting him feel for the first time in his life anotherís desire pressing against his own.

I grind our bodies together until he is near to losing control. Then I push him away from me. He almost falls, catching himself on the table. Moist, golden eyes blink, and an exquisite pink mouth trembles.

"Do Iódo I displease you, shogun?" There is a fiber of disbelief in his voice, tangled up with longing.

"Yes."

He blinks, and a soft sheen covers those golden eyes. "Howó?"

"You are wearing too much clothing." I tug at his jacket. "Take it off."

He opens his mouth to protest, but my eyes narrow and he apparently thinks better of it. Slowly, he begins shedding his cumbersome garments. I cross my arms over my chest and plant my legs, watching him coldly. He fumbles with the catches and laces; he is always dressed and undressed by servants, I imagine. I offer him no help, forcing him to try and fail and try again in front of me, knowing his struggles erode that proud will.

Finally, he has stripped to his silk undergarments. "Stop," I order, before he removes them.

I take a step toward him. I am taller than he, and I use my height to intimidate him. He isnít used to having to look up at anyone; no oneís head is to be higher than the emperorís, after all.  I raise my hands to the neck of his whisper-thin shirt, my fingers brushing across the ridge of his collarbone. His pulse quickens under my touch, and I trace the path of its rapid beating.  He swallows, his gaze locked to mine. Without warning, I grasp the neck of his shirt again and rip it to the hem. His eyes widen, but he makes no sound. When I rip aside his remaining garment, he still does not protest.

Naked, he stands in front of me, staring at the floor. His beauty nearly strangles me. It seems impossible that a creature so perfect is merely human, as I am. I pull the bands from his hair, let it fall in russet waves to his waist.  His eyes search mine for somethingóapproval? Desire? Surely he must be accustomed to both. Yet I see fear in his face; he is truly afraid he does not please me. I am quite possibly the first person he has ever encountered who has nothing to gain by flattering him. In my eyes, he sees the only untainted assessment of himself he has ever known.

I smile. It is difficult for me; I do it so seldom, I have almost forgotten how. But this young emperor touches me in a place I thought dead long ago. I supposeÖI suppose that for one night, it can do no harm.

"Come here." I hold out my arms and he approaches, almost shy. I enfold him in my embrace, running my hands over the smooth planes of his body, delighting in the shivers I engender.  I trace his ear with my tongue, and he sags against me as if his knees will no longer support him.

"MmmmÖ.SaihiteiÖ"

"PleaseÖ" He arches against me as I tangle my hands in his hair. "Call me Hotohori."

I touch the place on his neck where his character glowed blood-red during our battle. "Hotohori," I murmur, trying out the name. How it suits him. "I am Nakago."

"NakagoÖmy master." He slides his arms around my neck. "Command me."

"Say my name again." I like the way it sounds when he says it, and I press my mouth against his to feel the low, pleasing murmur as he obeys.

We kiss again. He likes being kissed, I can tell. I never liked it much before, although I have been told I do it well. But his mouth is sweet, and I could plunder it forever. Soon, kissing is not enough. I want that golden, flawless body under me.

I push Hotohori back and apprehension springs into his eyes again.  I grasp his wrist with one hand, rummage through my bag for a candle with the other. I find it and light it from the fire. On the mantel above the hearth stands a candle holder, and I shove the wax pillar into it. I want light when I take Hotohori upstairs. I want to see him, want him to watch what I do to him.

With the candle in one hand, I climb the stairs, pulling him along by his wrist. I take him through the loft to the room I located before. Releasing him, I set the candle on a shelf so that the bed is bathed in light, then unwrap my blue mantle from my shoulders and spread it out. I motion for Hotohori to lie down, but he eyes the ancient bed suspiciously.

"Whatís the matter?" I grab a handful of his hair and twist it around my hand, tugging hard enough to hurt. "Is this bed not good enough for you?"

 "IÖ" Tears flood his eyes. "IfÖif my master orders, it is good enough."

"Ah." I pet him and he clings to me, his chest rising and falling with his shuddering breaths. He is so hungry for honest approval. "Lie down."

He obeys. I sit beside him on the bed, my admiration frank in my eyes as I examine him. There is nothing about him that is not perfection itself. I run my hand down his chest, his abdomen, his stomach, and he writhes under my touch. I push his legs apart, smooth my palms down his thighs, watching as his manhood dances in the candlelight, pulsing and wet.

I wrap my hand around his staff, holding it still while I lick the wetness from the head. This is something else I have never liked to do, although again I have garnered many compliments, not to mention a jewel or two, for my skill. But Hotohoriís long, slender blade makes me hungry to taste him. I bathe him with my tongue, my own arousal growing as he moans. Diamond droplets leak from him, and I taste them, my tongue worrying his weeping slit. I take the head of his shaft into my mouth, grazing his throbbing flesh with my teeth. Frantic, he tosses his head, his wondrous mane falling across his face, strands clinging to his flushed and perspiring cheeks.

"NakagoÖpleaseÖ"

I lick him again, and yet once more, just to hear him sob my name, begging me. Then I play with the soft bush of hair between his legs, teasing him without mercy.

"Tell me what you want."

"I donít know." He groans, his need making him thrash as if he lay on a bed of burning coals. "I donít knowÖbut please, NakagoÖdo something. I-I canít bear this." He squirms, trying to press his swollen, aching manhood into my hand, but I deny him.

"Where shall I touch you, pretty one?" I tease him, stroking his cheek, his shoulder, his belly.

"LowerÖpleaseÖ"

"Here?" I fondle him and he bucks against my hand.

"YesÖoh yes." He lifts his hips, begging with his body for the contact to go on.

I take pity on him and begin to stroke him in earnest. "Is this how you like it?"

"IÖyes, I think soÖIÖ"

"You think so?" I pause, startled. "HotohoriÖ" I cannot believe he has not even done this. Every boy knows the pleasures of his own hand, from peasants to princes. SurelyÖ?

"I am never alone." He answers my unspoken question, his voice snapping with temper. "It is not something one wishes to do in front of servants, after all."

Lonely, but never alone. I feel that strange spasm in my chest again, vaguely familiar in its twisting. I turn from it, unsettled, and instead submerge my senses in the luxury of Hotohoriís beauty.

"NakagoÖ" He whimpers, then opens his eyes. "Will you show me? How you please yourself?"

I find I cannot refuse. Silently, I remove my own clothing. His eyes grow wide. I guess that he has never seen another human naked before, either. They have kept him in a jeweled cage, and he is only now beginning to realize what he has missed. I begin to pump myself, slowly at first, showing him the rhythm I like to start with, then increasing my speed until I am ready to climax. He sits up, leaning on his elbows, watching me intently, his tongue wetting his lips. His hand creeps down his own body, and he joins me, stroking himself at first with trepidation, but then with more confidence.

"Yes, yesÖthatís it." I take his hand, guiding him, teaching him how to handle his own body. His face becomes a study in ecstasy. Tremors wash over him like waves as I direct his fingers to the most sensitive zones of pleasure, tutor him about pressure and motion and the delights of friction.

He breathes in shallow little gasps, and I think he must be about to come. I do not wish to give him release, not yet, so I lift his hands away from his body. He opens his eyes and looks at me as though I have betrayed him. Inexplicably, that hurts, and I bend to kiss him again. His arms steal around my neck as our mouths fasten together, and I roll over onto him.

"OhÖ" He sighs as I let him bear my weight, the warmth of anotherís body yet one more novel sensation to him. He wraps his arms around me, so tightly. I smooth his hair, kiss his forehead, his eyelids. I am in danger, and I know it. For the first time in years, some emotion other than icy hate touches me. I want to run, but I cannot. And it would not matter. It is too late for me.

His hands caress my shoulders and back. "Nakago," he whispers. "You feel so good. So good."

With my knee, I nudge his legs apart, feeling the heat and hardness of his yearning against my flesh. "I would make you feel better."

He looks at me, his golden eyes molten pools of desire. "There is more?"

"Much more." I slide down his abdomen, my mouth leaving a trail of kisses. I spread his legs, lifting them, exposing him fully to me. He gasps, wriggling a little, and I think he begins to guess my intentions. I lave my tongue over him again, determined to make him moan, not letting up until he cries out. His hands tangle in my hair, running the strands through his fingers.

"Itís like gold." He sounds dazed. "Like gold spun into threads finer than silk."

My eyes burn. Others have said much the same to me, but their praise tasted sour, felt foul, like a fetid draft from a cesspool. His words waft fresh, a morning breeze through cherry blossoms. My soul spirals farther into a maelstrom of desire, of longing and loss.

I nuzzle against the soft skin of his inner thigh, my lips nibbling at his flesh. He struggles, but not to escape.

"NakagoÖteach me. Teach me all." Shimmering threads of desire weave through his voice.

I reach to part the twin globes of his buttocks. My thumbs open him to me, and I bathe his entrance with my tongue. I open his passage with my finger, watching with fascination as his muscles clench around me. He pushes against me, but I refuse to give him more. He is so lovely in his torment.

"Shhh." I carefully stretch him a little farther. "Let me take my time with you. Otherwise, it will hurt."

I want to promise I will never hurt him, but I cannot make a vow I am so likely to break. Instead, I rub my head against his thigh and slip another finger into him, watching the ring of muscle surrender grudgingly to my pressure. Slowly, I spread my fingers, widening his entrance even as I feel his spasms of resistance. He whimpers, his thighs quivering. I lean forward and push my tongue inside him.

"Nakago!" He screams my name, his voice trailing off to an imploring whisper as I continue to moisten his passage. "Oh godsÖoh, please, NakagoÖ"

I gather his wetness on my hand, adding it to my own, spread it over my shaft. I fear it may not be enough, but Hotohori wants it so badly. I lift his legs to my shoulders, positioning myself to enter him. It is a momentous thing, the deflowering of an emperor, but he cries and begs like the commonest of soldiers. He lifts his hips, urging me, and I wait no longer.

I push into him, only a little at first. As wide as I stretched him, I am wider still, and it hurts him. He squeezes shut his eyes, but tears roll down his cheeks.

"NakagoÖ" His voice quakes, betraying his fear.

I kiss him as I force him to take more of me. "I told you it would hurt. But I will be gentle. Donít be afraid."

"I-Iím not."

He swallows bravely, but I can see that he lies. I invade him more deeply, and he cries out. He asked me to teach him, but sometimes the lessons we most desire bring us the most pain. Soon, I am buried completely within him. I do not move, except to kiss his legs where they rest against my shoulders, letting his body become accustomed to mine. He lies before me, gripping my cloak with white-knuckled hands, crying, and I remember my own first time. I do not want him to remember this night the way that I recall that one.

"Hush, Hotohori." I carefully lower his legs so that I can gather him in my arms. "I will not begin too quickly. But you must relax. It only hurts because you resist."

I lift him to my chest, and he clings to me, his legs spanning my lap. I talk to him, kiss him, pet him until I feel his pain-tension ease. His eyes widen, glowing with wonder in the candlelight, as I lay him back against the bed and begin to move, easing in and out of him.

"Oh! Oh, NakagoÖ"

He pushes against me now, hungry for the rhythm I offer. He learns this as quickly as everything else I have taught him tonight, and soon he takes me eagerly. My body strokes him within, and when I touch his center, he wails like a cat in heat, the regal and dignified young emperor utterly eclipsed by this sweating, moaning courtesan. I thrust into him, groaning myself as he grips me with a virginís tightness.

I feel my life-energy, my ki, rise within me, my body tingling as though lightning has struck beside me. Hotohori reaches up and touches my forehead, where my character glows. He pulls my head down and kisses me there. My vision blurs. Who else would understand the weight of that mark?

I take him in my hand, stroking him as I move faster within him. The rising tides of ki and orgasm threaten to sweep me away.  His character, too, glows brightly, our energies blending even as our bodies merge. He cries my name over and over, grasping handfuls of my hair, kissing any of my flesh his mouth can reach. His eagerness overwhelms me. I can hold back no longer, and I come, releasing power in a blinding blue flash even as I pour my essence into his body.

Hotohori follows me, his sweet voice raw with bliss. "NakagoÖI canítÖI mustÖ" I watch his face as he climaxes, engraving his innocent pleasure in my memory. His body pulses against mine, his hot seed oiling us both.

I lay atop him, unwilling to move away. He leans his forehead on my shoulder, breathing heavily, then rubs his cheek against my arm. It is a shame night does not last forever.

He stirs under me. I worry that I am too heavy for him and move to roll away, but his arms tighten around me. He nuzzles against my chest, like a cat demanding attention.

"NakagoÖthank you." Boldly, he draws my head down and kisses me, lingering over my mouth as a scholar over his books.

"For defeating you?" I smileóit does not seem so difficult now. The candle on the shelf gutters, and shadows leap across the bed. Hotohoriís face hides from me in the curtain of his hair and the growing darkness of the shabby room.

"For teaching me. I wishÖ"

I put a finger over his lips. "Hush. Do not torment us both with impossible wishes." He kisses the finger that restrained him, his tongue flicking over my calluses. My body stirs again and a startled look sweeps across his face.

"You are aÖformidable enemy, Nakago."

I smooth his hair away from his cheeks and forehead. The candle will not last much longer, and I want to look at him while I can. When I touch him, he smiles, too, lifting his body to press closer to mine. His hands wander across my shoulders, down the muscles of my back, palms sliding over my hips. A growl rumbles low in the back of my throat and his caresses grow more certain.

I roll us to our sides, hooking my leg over his. As I pull him close again, I see dark stains on my cloak beneath him. I was not gentle enough. I close my eyes, unprepared for the pain the sight of his blood gives me. I can promise him so little, yet I have already broken the one vow I made to him.

"Nakago?" His voice wraps itself around my despair. "What is it? Do you not wish toÖam I doing something wrong?"

It is not the emperor who speaks, but rather my young and inexperienced servant. I school myself; he has no need of my anguish. No doubt he has sufficient of his own.

"No, myÖ" Not mine, I remind myself. Never mine. He belongs to a foreign county and a foreign god. I have only stolen him from them for one night. "No, Hotohori. Youíve learned well. Itís onlyÖIím sorry I hurt you. Forgive me."

"Hurt me?" He sounds puzzled. Does he take painówhether of the body or of the heartófor granted, as I do, assuming itís the portion fate has measured for him?

"Youíre bleeding."

"I am? OhÖoh yes, I suppose one would." He traces his finger over my face. "It seems a little price to pay." His golden eyes shimmer in the dying light. "But you have not hurt me, Nakago. You could never hurt me."

"Hotohori, stop." A cold weight I cannot explain settles on my heart. I feel as though Iím choking. "We cannot know what the gods have chosen for us. Do not tempt them."

He smiles, sad and knowing. "You do not strike me as a superstitious man."

"I am not. But I am realistic."

He sighs. "So am I." His caresses begin anew, hungry and a little desperate. "Please, then. Letís not waste this time. I-I may never have another chance such as this. AndÖand I have not yet paid my forfeit."

Lonely little emperor. How can I deny him? "So you have not. As you say, then letís not waste time."

He comes to me, wanton and heated. His kisses grow more expert by the moment, his tongue challenging mine in a frantic battle of lust. Need spikes through me, stronger than I imagine possible, as though I had not spent myself but a short time ago. His mouth leaves mine, kissing a path down my jaw to my neck. I tangle my hands in his hair, my fingers scratching against his scalp, all thoughts of gentleness forgotten in the firestorm of desire he ignites in me. I push his head lower, and his searching mouth discovers my nipples. His tongue swirls over them, soft and maddening.

"Oh yes, little one." I slip my hand between his legs as he licks me, demanding that his manhood rise to attention. He groans and bucks at my handling, but I feel him swell into my hand and his mouth redoubles its efforts.

He rains supplicating kisses down my abdomen, his lips moist against my skin. I force his head lower still, feeling the slightest hint of resistance in his muscles. My hand pushes him, steady and insistent, until his lips reach the base of my staff. I take myself in hand and rub the head of my manhood across his lips. He licks at it, shy at first, but sure enough to make me writhe. My strainings encourage him, and he takes all of me into his mouth, his tongue tracing my hardness.

He reaches for me, pushing my hand away. "Let me, Nakago. Let me give you pleasure."

"AhhÖHotohoriÖ" I am lost, drowning in his fervent, virginal efforts to please me. His hands wander blindly over me, driving me to something beyond lust. No one has ever touched the space inside me that he does, this servant-emperor. One nightÖone night only, and then I will seal that place off forever, my heart and soul a shrine to him.

His mouth engulfs me, so warm and wet I want to scream. I watch his dark head bob over me, a shadow within the shadows. He gives me a long, electrifying lick, then raises his eyes to mine. I can barely see him now, but I feel him stir, wriggling up my body. His presses against me, and I open my arms to him. He crawls into my embrace, kisses me, his lips playing upon mine. Oh, HotohoriÖbeautiful and unreachable as a star. I want to weep, though I have not wept in many years.

He pulls away from my mouth, sitting up, positioning himself over my rigid shaft. I grasp his hips, stopping him.

"Hotohori, no. I will not hurt you again."

"NakagoÖmy teacher, my dearest. Please. Please grant me this. I want thisóI want youóand after tonight, I donít know that I shall ever have it again. Please donít deny me."

I melt, helpless to resist him. "Hotohori, lovely oneÖdo as you will."

With a cry that is as much pain as pleasure, he impales himself, riding me with abandon. He wraps me in his silk, and I grasp his hands as we rock together. I raise my hips, thrusting up into him, grinding in widening circles, making him cry out my name.

"Nakago! Donít stop, please, never stopÖ"

"Never, my darling. Never." I give him all my skills, learned in beds I hated with men I despised. Yet tonight, I feel gratitude toward them, that they have made it possible for me to give Hotohori the gift of ecstasy.

What he gives me has no name, and no price.

Bathed in bright tongues of god-fire, we come together. He collapses, shuddering, into my arms, lying quietly as the sweat cools on our bodies. Outside, I hear the first call of the morning birds. In a very little while, we shall have to leave, enemies again. I stroke his hair with unaccustomed tenderness, trying not to think about how well he fits in my arms.

"I donít want to go, Nakago." He sounds like a petulant schoolboy, and I have to smile.

"I do not want you to go. But we have no choice." Never had a choice, neither of us. Not two seishi, marked by indifferent gods, our lives fated, woven into a pattern of service before we were ever born.

"Itís not fair."

I kiss him. "No. But then, very little in life is fair, and what appears to be is merely accidental."

He sighs. "Do you thinkÖis it possible that weíll everÖthat you and Ió"

I cannot lie to him, no matter how much I wish to. "It seems unlikely, Hotohori."

He nuzzles against me. "I know. But I shall always hope."

"There is one thing that you can do for me." I lift his chin.

"What is that? Ask me anything, Nakago, and if it is in my power to grant itó"

I smile. "Strong talk for a servant." I trace my finger over the tip of his nose. Even his nose is flawless. "But this is within your power, I think."

"What is it?" He captures my hand and kisses my palm.

"Now and then, little emperor, send your servants away."

"Oh!" I feel his face grow warm. Suddenly, he flings his arms around me. "Oh, Nakago, why? Why must it be like this?"

"Stop, Hotohori. It is because it is." I feel a warm wetness spread against my shoulder, under his cheek, and I relent. Even though the night is over, I cannot be harsh with him. "It is not yet light. We have a little while still." I cuddle him. He seems to need comforting so much more than I.

He says no more. Soon, we shall creep downstairs, and I shall help him dress. We shall find his sword, and mount our horses, and look one last time before turning our backs. I will withdraw my men, and when they see his blood upon my cloak, they will think he has wounded me, and they will fear this Konan emperor.

He will return to his palace and perhaps find someone to love.

And IÖ

I will put the locks back upon my heart and throw the keys into a bottomless lake of despair.   
 

The End

 


End file.
